


You (don't) hate her.

by orphan_account



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angry but vulnerable Saeran, Angst, Caretaker!MC, Established MC, F/M, Fleshed Out MC, General spoilers, I cried while writing this because I'm an emo fuck, I suck at tagging, Mental Conflict, Mental Illness, Mommy!MC, Mum Figure!MC, Named MC, No established ship, PTSD, Panic Attack, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Saeran has PTSD, Spoilers for Luciel's name, Spoilers for Unknown's name, Swearing, can be seen as either platonic or romantic, female!MC, spoilers for seven's name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He wasn't some kind of fucking porcelain doll, he wanted her to treat him like she treated Saeyoung; like a normal human being, not like fine china that could chip and break at the slightest impact. He was already broken, and nothing could fix him. He wished she realised that, and would stop tip-toeing around him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written at 4 AM after a year of not writing, so it's probably a little stiff and rough around the edges. Formatting might be odd too, wrote and posted this on my phone. Sorry! Enjoy.

_He's had enough._

After days of her concern, affection and other _bullshit_ , he's had enough. She should be hating him for what he did to her. And yet here she was, buying him new clothes, ruffling his hair, making him food and speaking in sweet, gentle motherly tones as to not upset him.

He wasn't some kind of fucking porcelain doll, he wanted her to treat him like she treated Saeyoung; like a _normal human being_ , not like fine china that could chip and break at the slightest impact. He was already broken, and nothing could fix him. He wished she realised that, and would stop tip-toeing around him.

He barked out a short, harsh laugh. Tip-toeing. _She was a ballerina, of course all she did was tip-toe,_ he thought bitterly.

**_He hated her. He hated her, he hated her, he hated her, hated her hated her hated her hated her --_ **

'No, you don't.' The nasty little voice inside his head supplied ever-so-helpfully.

"Shut up." He mumbled to himself.

'You know I'm right. She's been nothing but kind to you. She _cares_ , and you know it. But that scares you. Because _no one_ cares about poor little Saeran, right? People only care about you when they want something from you. So you can keep convincing yourself she doesn't care, because that hurts less than admitting to yourself that she does.' The voice mocked. 'But even if she does care, she'll just end up leaving and abandoning you like everybody else, right? That's why you're trying to convince yourself that you hate her, because then it hurts less when the time inevitably comes. You don't _just care_ about her. You _adore_ her.'

Saeran grasped the locks of his hair, gripping it tighter and pulling it harder with each taunt.

The voice, his thoughts - they refused to let up. He felt a tightness in his throat, and struggled to breathe. Choking on his own spit, vision blurred with tears as the taunts got nastier and nastier, he became dizzy. It felt like a fucking heart attack.

"Stop it, stop it, _stop it!"_ He demanded when he fell to his knees on the cold, kitchen floor - but his inner voice just continued the mental torture until he was a quivering, crying mess, bashing his fists on his head, screaming, crying, begging, for it to stop.

Suddenly, a deafening silence fell as warmth surrounded him.

His eyes felt heavy, swollen shut with stinging tears, and it felt like someone had bashed his skull in with a hammer. But it didn't matter, because there was warmth and silence and a soothing darkness.

It was like the entire world moved in slow-motion as he felt his hands being pulled out of his hair, as a foreign hand replaced it at the back of his head, and another at his lower back, pulling him into a gentle embrace.

A gentle, lilted voice broke the silence, a hand started combing through his hair.

She started _singing_. She started singing a fucking children's lullaby.

Normally, he would've laughed and flipped her off. Now, he just wanted to crawl into her sweater, her warmth, and have her hold him all day long.

The gentle scratching of her nails as she combed her hand through his hair, the small circles she rubbed circles on his lower back... It was all very soothing. He relaxed a bit, releasing tension from his stiffened muscles.

 _Fucking panic attacks,_ he thought.

His head was resting against her chest, and her lips were close to his ear so she could whisper quiet words of comfort to him.

He _hated_ the intimacy. He hated to admit it, but it helped. It _healed_.

Suddenly, a sob wracked his body. _She cares,_ he thought to himself, She really does care. How could she, after all he did? Another sob followed.

"Shhh, it's okay, sweetheart." She whispered, and he clutched onto her for dear life, more sobs following. He hadn't cried in years. He hadn't been held in years.

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour? He didn't know. He had calmed down, even relaxed into her embrace, but he refused to let go of her.

"Saeran? I need to make dinner for you and Saeyoung, is that alright?" She asked in that gentle, caring voice of hers.

"Please don't leave." He begged in a small voice. "Please don't _ever_ leave me."

"I promise I won't leave. Don't you worry now. I'm just going to make you some food, alright? You must be starving." She said, trying to untangle herself from his grip. He reluctantly let her sweater slip from his balled-up fists.

He swallowed. He had to say it. He _had_ to. Why was it so hard?

More time passed, as she quietly spoke to him while cooking, likely trying to distract him from his own thoughts.

"I'm going to grab the new pan I bought from the living room, don't move, I'll be right back, okay?" She smiled sweetly.

Now. He had to tell her now.

She tried to walk past him but he grabbed onto her leg, hugging it to stop her from moving.

She looked down, clearly confused.

"Thank you... Thank you for _everything."_ He mumbled into the fabric of her jeans.

She kneeled down at him, nearly losing her balance thanks to the death grip he had on her leg.

"Don't mention it, sweetheart." She whispered, and kissed his temple.

Another way of gentle comfort. It always felt so awkward, but she meant well. He... sort of appreciated it? It confused him, but not in a bad way.

She stood back up, yet again untangling herself from his grip, ruffled his hair and attempted to leave once more.

"And..." She stilled her movements.

"And...?" She questioned.

"And I don't hate you." He looked down at his hands.

"I know. You have a kind heart, Saeran. I can tell." She said, smiling down at him gently.

She was wrong about that., so very wrong. But then again, so was he. She wasn't a princess, and he wasn't an angel.

 _She_ was the angel, not him. She was the angel sent to this Godforsaken Earth to cleanse his taint, sent to exorcise the demon inside of him.

And he would forever be grateful for that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated!!


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